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<title>The King's Hunters: New Friends, New Lives by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860516">The King's Hunters: New Friends, New Lives</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose'>San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Collaborations: jennytork and San Antonio Rose [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural, The King's Speech (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, RMS Titanic, Speech Disorders, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2013-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2013-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:27:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>By some fluke or special grace, three Americans turn up at Sandringham House shortly before Christmas of 1902 and rescue seven-year-old Bertie from the torment inflicted by his demon-possessed nanny. Bertie suddenly finds himself with two new friends who know the strangest things and who won't take any nonsense from his arrogant older brother. He's delighted when Sam and Dean discover that they can't go home right away, and Sam and Dean decide having a ringside seat to history won't be all bad. But what will John say when he finds out that Dean's been hired as Bertie's governor? And will any of the Winchesters remember what they need to know to avoid getting caught in one of the greatest naval disasters of all time? (Co-written with jennytork; art by Amberdreams.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Collaborations: jennytork and San Antonio Rose [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Mysterious Arrivals</h2></a>
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<a href="http://s830.photobucket.com/user/Amberdreams1960/media/SPN-gen%20BB/Rambin%20Rosie/TheKingsHunterslarge.jpg.html">
      
    </a>
  </p>
  <p><a href="http://s830.photobucket.com/user/Amberdreams1960/media/SPN-gen%20BB/Rambin%20Rosie/Chapter1.jpg.html"></a><br/>
The Mysterious Arrivals</p>
</div><br/>Christmases at Sandringham House were always lavish affairs, but there was a hush over the proceedings the year young Bertie turned seven. His great-grandmother, the impossibly long-reigning Victoria, had passed the year before, and while Mummy was busy with Henry and about to give birth again, Bertie’s nanny had been treating him shamefully for some time now. David was doted on, and Bertie was treated like something she wouldn’t deign to wipe off her shoes. Bertie’s stutter was growing progressively worse, to the point that he sometimes felt like he was out-and-out choking on his words. His left hand now bore a scar across the knuckles, where he had been forced painfully to use his right when it felt unnatural.<p>His misery presently had only one flicker of hope for relief:  the mysterious American man Father had invited to stay, and his two sons who hadn’t been allowed to meet Bertie yet.  One, he’d heard, was 11, and the other was 15.</p><p>That very evening, the princes were led into their parents’ chambers. As usual, Nanny pinched him severely. But for once, someone saw her do it.  The Americans were there, and the older boy looked ready to leap to Bertie’s defense before his father put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.</p><p>They went inside the room and Nanny apologised to the prince and princess for Bertie’s tears. “Clearly, the boy wants to be with me, though.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Father said—but there was something skeptical in his tone.  “I do hope, then, that you will be willing to join us for the Christmas festivities?”</p><p>Her face lit. “Certainly! I needs must get the boys into bed, and—”</p><p>A deep voice rumbled, “<i>In nomine Patri....</i>”</p><p>Nanny hissed and turned... and it was a jolly good thing no one was expecting Bertie to say anything, because Nanny’s eyes were <i>solid black</i>.</p><p>“Madam,” the American drawled to Mummy, “now.”</p><p>Bertie had never seen his mother so upset before—or so fast. He was in her arms and across the room before he had time to draw two startled breaths. David was in Father’s arms, in a similar state.</p><p>Nanny laughed, and it sounded all manner of <i>wrong</i>. “You. Hunter. You are out of place.”</p><p>“Don’t see how it matters to you,” the American said.  “<i>Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus</i>...”</p><p>And Bertie’s face was crushed into Mummy’s shoulder, but he heard—oh, the awful screams and roars. They were inhuman.</p><p>Then there was a thud, as if Nanny had fainted.  There was an awful silence, and then the American was talking quietly.  “Easy, now, ma’am.  You’ll be okay.”</p><p>“Wh... where... what....”  Nanny suddenly sounded working-class.</p><p>“We’re at Sandringham.  What’s the last thing you remember?”</p><p>“I... I was at home... going to get my bread....”</p><p>“Where’s home?”</p><p>“Devon....”</p><p>“What do you do for a living?”</p><p>“I’m... I’m a washerwoman...”</p><p>“And what day was it?  Date, month, year.”</p><p>“July... 15... 1897.”</p><p>Bertie gasped without meaning to and turned his head to look.</p><p>“She will need some transportation home, Your Highness,” said the American.</p><p>“Y—” Nanny’s mouth fell open as she looked at the royal family.  “Lord save us... w-whatever’s happened to me?”</p><p>“Possession, ma’am,” the American said. “But it’s over now.”</p><p>“Possession?  You—you mean, like—by the devil?!”</p><p>“No, ma’am. By a demon.”</p><p>Nanny fainted again.</p><p>The American lifted her. “My sons may remain here until my return?”</p><p>“As was our agreement,” Father replied, and Bertie almost stopped breathing.  He hardly dared hope... but if the American boys were staying in the house, there might be a chance....</p><p>“By your leave, then.” And the American was gone, pausing by his children with a rumbled, “Look after your brother, Dean.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” the older boy replied.  That must mean his name was Dean.  Bertie filed the fact away for future reference.</p><p>Mummy’s hands smoothed his hair. “Bertie... David... would you show young master Dean and young master Sam to the nursery?”</p><p>Bertie nodded so fast he almost gave himself a headache.</p><p>“Good night, boys.”</p><p>“Night, Mummy, Daddy,” David said easily, while Bertie fumbled, “G—g-g—g’night, Mummy.”</p><p>As they left the room, Dean’s hand came to rest lightly on Bertie’s shoulder. Bertie turned to blink curiously at him.</p><p>Dean smiled and whispered for Bertie’s ears only, “Talkin’s a little hard, huh?”</p><p>Bertie didn’t know how to respond.  He didn’t <i>think</i> Dean was making fun of him, the way David always did, but he wasn’t sure.  And if Dean was just being friendly... well, Bertie didn’t really have friends, so he didn’t know what to think.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Dean whispered. “I get it.”</p><p>Bertie blinked and frowned.  He knew Americans talked strangely, but he didn’t understand what Dean might have got, whether he meant ‘fetch’ or ‘get as a gift,’ and what either statement might have had to do with anything.  He opened his mouth to try to force the question out.</p><p>Dean held up a hand. “I mean I understand.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Bertie.  “... Oh!  D—d-d-d—”</p><p>Dean waited patiently.</p><p>Bertie choked and stumbled until he managed, “Do you r-r-really?  Y—y-you d—d—”</p><p>“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Dean said. “Not with me. Out there, yeah. With me? No. I know what it’s like, to feel that the words are stuck in your throat and you’re forcing them through a brick wall ten feet thick.”</p><p>Bertie gasped as quietly as he could.  Nobody’d ever put it like that before, but that <i>was</i> what it felt like.  “... H-h-... h-how....”</p><p>“We’re here,” David announced.</p><p>Sam gasped loudly as David flung open the nursery door.  “WHOA!  This is <i>yours</i>?!”</p><p>“This is where we live, yes.”</p><p>“Awesome!” the brothers chorused.</p><p>The princes looked at them as if they were suddenly speaking Chinese.</p><p>“Dude,” Dean continued, “when she said nursery, I was thinking, like, one bedroom.  We’ve had apartments smaller than this!”</p><p>“Apartments?” David frowned.</p><p>“I think they call ’em ‘flats’ here, Dean,” Sam noted, but that didn’t make matters any clearer to Bertie.</p><p>“Two people divided by a common tongue,” Dean quipped. “Okay, where do we sleep?”</p><p>Bertie ran to show them Nanny’s room.</p><p>Sam gushed, and Dean smiled at Bertie. “Will you show us the routine in the morning?”</p><p>Bertie nodded.  He still didn’t understand why Dean seemed to like him so, but he was eager to please.</p><p>“Okay. Good night, Prince.”</p><p>David bristled at that.  “The proper form of address for a prince is ‘Your Highness’—or don’t they teach you that in the colonies?”</p><p>Dean met his eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “They don’t.”</p><p>David huffed.  “I’m not surprised.”</p><p>“Nor am I,” Dean said. “We <i>are</i> taught that royals are arrogant little snot-nosed brats.” His hand moved to Bertie’s shoulder again, the squeeze conveying his apologies without a word.</p><p>“You can’t talk to me like that!  My father’s the Prince of Wales!”</p><p>“And my father’s a United States Marine, and I don’t take orders from you.”</p><p>Bertie suddenly rather liked America.</p><p>“So—your <i>high and mightiness</i>—I will say it again. Good night.” It had the air of a dismissal.</p><p>David looked ready to try to argue further, but Sam stepped toward him threateningly.  Grumbling, David withdrew.</p><p>Dean smiled at Bertie and removed his hand, waving at him in lieu of words.</p><p>There was so much Bertie wanted to say—thanks for putting David in his place and for being so nice to him, questions about what had happened and why Dean understood and how he’d got past his own stutter, if he ever had—but the words would die in his throat if he tried, so he settled for smiling broadly and waving back before leaving the room.</p>
<hr/><p>Morning came far too soon. Bertie woke to find Dean fixing breakfast on the nursery’s small stove.</p><p>Dean noticed movement and smiled. “Hey, morning. Wash your hands and come help me.”</p><p>Bertie goggled at him.  Not only did Dean clearly not know that the servants would be bringing breakfast, but he also clearly didn’t know that Bertie wasn’t supposed to help.  At anything ever.</p><p>Dean studied his expression and the smile turned into a huge grin. “You’re going to be king someday, kiddo. Imagine how your subjects will love a king who knows how to make his own grub.”</p><p>That didn’t make any kind of sense at all.  David would be king, not Bertie.  But Bertie didn’t want to disappoint Dean, and explaining would take all morning, so he did as he was told.</p><p>“Scrambled eggs?” Dean said, holding out a hand palm up. “Or fried?” he held the other one the same way and pressed them toward Bertie. “Touch which palm is the answer. Scrambled... or fried?”</p><p>Bertie looked at Dean wide-eyed for a moment—no one ever asked!—then made up his mind and chose scrambled.</p><p>“All right! That’s my boy. Scrambled it is!”</p><p>So Bertie learned how to break eggs and beat them just. So.  Dean showed Bertie how to melt butter and how to keep the eggs moving in the pan—and then he let Bertie do it a little!</p><p>Truth be told, Bertie was feeling a bit scrambled himself.  But it was kind of a good feeling. And eating simple fare that he had a hand in making—well, it seemed to taste a million times better.</p><p>“Do you like it?” Dean asked, making a strange gesture with his thumb, jutting it straight up.</p><p>Bertie echoed the gesture with a grin.</p><p>“All right,” Dean repeated. He looked back toward their sleeping brothers, then said, “I know what it’s like, because I’ve been there. When I was little, I didn’t want to talk for a long time. It felt like there was a brick wall in my throat and the words couldn’t make it out of my brain past that wall.”</p><p>“W-w-w—why?”</p><p>“I saw my mother die,” he said softly.</p><p>Bertie’s mouth fell open.  He couldn’t imagine something so horrible.</p><p>“So, yeah. And when you’re older, you WILL have to talk. But you never really do with me.”</p><p>“Th—th-th—”</p><p>Dean took his hand and squeezed it. Acknowleding the thanks. And Bertie decided Dean was his new favorite person.</p><p>The servants arrived with breakfast after Dean had cleaned up his cooking. David and Sam woke and ate with them. Bertie couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten so well.  Nanny—or, well, whatever had pretended to be Nanny, who wasn’t Nanny after all—had often refused to feed him.</p><p>At the end of the meal, Dean said, “Show me your lessons.”</p><p>Bertie’s spirits sank as David retrieved their books.  He didn’t mind learning, but schoolwork was a pain—literally.</p><p>“David, you and Sam work over there. Bertie, show me where you are.”</p><p>David started to object, but Sam grabbed him by the scruff of the neck as if he were an errant puppy and dragged him off to the area Dean had indicated. Dean just shook his head.</p><p>With a sigh, Bertie opened his books and showed Dean where he’d left off the day before.</p><p>Dean looked at it and nodded. “Okay, I can see most of this is oral. Is that typical teaching in this country?”</p><p>Bertie shrugged.  He didn’t know how other children learned at school, but this was how his tutors had always worked with him.</p><p>“Well, this isn’t going to work. We’ll keep a few of these oral exercises, because you ARE going to need to use your voice, but there’s got to be stuff we can do that doesn’t take that.” He poked at the books. “Oh, math. Let’s try this first.”</p><p>Bertie bit his lip and reached for the pencil with his left hand before he caught himself.</p><p>“What was that? Why the hesitation?”</p><p>“I’m... ... ... s-s-s-s-supp-pposed t-t-t-to wr-... write with my r-r-r-right...”</p><p>Dean muttered something about savages under his breath, then pushed a paper toward him. “Write your name for me—just ‘Bertie’. Right handed and then left handed.”</p><p>Bertie did so.  Writing with his left hand felt so much more natural, but he couldn’t forget the pain Nanny and his tutors had inflicted on him for writing that way.</p><p>Dean studied it and started to smile. “They’re identical.”</p><p>Bertie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.</p><p>“Look.” He showed him. “You’re ambidextrous. Since it’s apparently so important for you to write right-handed, keep practicing it to keep it identical, and write right-handed if you have to in public. But for your lessons, away from the eyes, I don’t mind if you use your left hand.”</p><p>Tears welled up in Bertie’s eyes as he looked up at Dean.  Nobody’d ever been this nice to him before.</p><p>“Hey, what’s this?” Dean smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no need for that.”</p><p>Bertie sniffled for a moment, then threw caution to the wind and hugged Dean.</p><p>Dean looked shocked, then hugged back awkwardly, patting his shoulder. “Come on, my friend. You can do this. Let’s get those math problems done while I figure out your history and literature texts, see if I can’t get some of that oral out of it so you can focus on the information instead of the brick wall.”</p><p>Bertie sniffled again, nodded, and pulled back.  Then he swiped at his eyes and picked up his pencil again. For a couple of minutes, he expected the crack of the rod across his hand, but Dean apparently meant it when he said he didn’t mind. The only thing he suggested was that Bertie hold the pencil looser so he wouldn’t break his hand.</p><p>Was this what it felt like to be a commoner, not to be trapped by the expectations of how a prince should behave?  If so, Bertie wished with all his heart that he could give up his titles and live with Dean all the time.  Sam, too, though he hadn’t had time to get to know him quite so well.  From what little he could overhear, Sam wasn’t taking any nonsense from David, and Bertie admired him for it.</p><p>“Okay, here.” Dean had left the room while Bertie was thinking and returned with a slate. “You were working on what happened around the Great Fire of London, right? Let’s start with that.”</p><p>Sammy showed up then, having clearly had enough of David for a few minutes.</p><p>Bertie nodded and swallowed hard.  “Ch-Ch-Charles the S-s....”</p><p>But then the slate was slid under his hand. “Charles II, yeah? Who was king before?” Dean tilted his head to the slate. “Or <i>was</i> there a king right before him?”</p><p>Bertie shook his head and wrote, <i>No king before—Cromwell.</i>  He couldn’t remember how to spell Interregnum, so he didn’t try for the moment.</p><p>“Cromwell,” Dean said. “Just Oliver or him and his son?”</p><p>Sam beamed at Dean. Maybe this was how Dean had taught him his own lessons whenever he had been sick and unable to talk.</p><p>Bertie thought a moment.  <i>Cromwell died, succeeded by son.  Govt failed.  Monarchy restored to Charles II. </i>He wondered briefly whether he needed to be writing full sentences, but Dean had said he wanted to focus on information.</p><p>“Perfect. Can you tell me something about Charles II’s personality and ruling style?”</p><p>
  <i>Merry Monarch.  Loved parties. </i>
</p><p>“Any excuse for a bash, huh?” Sammy quipped.</p><p>Bertie blinked, shook his head, and tapped “parties” with the chalk.  “H-h-he d... didn’t hit people.”</p><p>Sammy nodded. “Bash in the States is another word for parties.”</p><p>Oh.  Bertie nodded.</p><p>Sam went back to David and the maths and Dean asked, “Was he a good king? An effective king?”</p><p>Bertie thought about it, tilting his head side to side as he considered.  No king’s reign was without problems and enemies, but it seemed like most people still remembered Charles II fondly, and everyone said he did make some good laws.  So finally Bertie nodded.</p><p>“Would you call him a <i>wise</i> king?”</p><p>Bertie frowned as he thought about that one.  He didn’t really know.  Finally, he wrote, <i>Wasn’t Aethelred. </i></p><p>Dean frowned. He looked up Aethelred—and started laughing. “You’re right about that!”</p><p>Bertie was a little startled.  He didn’t remember the last time he’d made someone laugh like that—not <i>at him</i> or at the way he talked, but at what he’d actually said.  And it wasn’t a mean laugh at all.  He didn’t know he could do that.</p><p>Dean grinned at him. “Okay, now let’s turn this to you. Let’s say you eventually become king. What lessons can you learn from this monarch?”</p><p>Bertie blinked—again with this idea that he’d be king!  But Dean clearly expected an answer, so Bertie thought specifically about what Charles had done during the Great Fire.  <i>Help the people</i>, he wrote.  <i>Be nice.  Do the right thing, and do it yourself.  Don’t run from trouble. </i></p><p>“Do you know what all this boils down to?” Dean said, tapping the slate.</p><p>Bertie blinked again and shook his head.</p><p>“Respect. A good king doesn’t see himself up here...” He waved a hand at his forehead, “and his subjects down here.” He waved one at his hip. “He sees his subjects as people, and knows that except for an accident of birth, he could be exactly like that.”</p><p>Bertie sat back and thought about that for a moment.  He did respect commoners, now that he thought about it—not that he understood how they lived, but he liked the fact that they could do as they liked within the law, run and play and build models and wear plain clothes and so on.  And he admired the way the grown-ups worked hard so other people could have nice things.  He kind of wished he could make it so those people could have nice things, too.</p><p>“Now—you need to teach me something.”</p><p>That really startled Bertie.  Dean was almost a grown man!  What could Bertie teach him?</p><p>Dean chuckled softly. “You know we’re from the States. I worry about accidentally offending your parents because I don’t know protocol. I don’t even know what to call them.”</p><p>Ah.  Now this, Bertie could do.  He carefully cleaned his slate and began with Grandfather, His Majesty King Edward VII.  Then he went through all the relatives he knew—names, styles, first address in a conversation, subsequent address, farewell.  He was feeling a bit cheeky when he got to David, though, so next to his name, he put, <i>Oi, you! </i></p><p>Dean laughed again, rubbing his back. “That’s about right!”</p><p>Bertie giggled.  It felt like it had been a long time since he’d had something to giggle about.</p><p>Dean practiced with the titles for a few minutes. Then he asked, “And out there—what would I call you?”</p><p>Bertie met his eyes.  “B-b-b-b-Bertie.”  He hoped the ‘please’ was understood.</p><p>He half-expected Dean to emulate his stutter, but he just nodded. “Bertie. No title?” There was no warning in the voice—it was genuine curiosity.</p><p>“D-d-d... d-don’t want one,” Bertie confessed.</p><p>“Bertie it is, then. Now... what other subjects do you do? History, math.....”</p><p>It was that easy? Really?</p><p>It took Bertie a moment to recover from the shock, but when he did, he started listing his other subjects on his slate.</p><p>“Well. Looks like we’ve got our afternoon cut out for us. Let’s take a lunch break. Ever had grilled cheese sandwiches?”</p><p>Bertie shook his head.  “C-c-c-cook’s s-sending....”</p><p>“Do you know what?”</p><p>Bertie shook his head.</p><p>“Hold on. Hey, Sammy, c’mere!”</p><p>“Yo!” Sam called back and returned a moment later.  “What’s up?”</p><p>“Get David to show you where the kitchen is and see if they can send up some extra bread, softened butter and cheese with the meal.”</p><p>Sam brightened.  “Grilled cheese?  Dude, you’re awesome.”</p><p>Dean grinned. “Yeah, but don’t tell <i>them</i> that or they’ll insist on doing it themselves. I don’t want the servants to do it; I want to do it.”</p><p>“Heck, I bet they never even heard of grilled cheese.”  Sam went off to collect David.</p><p>“You are gonna <i>love</i> this,” Dean told Bertie. “I just wish I could make you tomato and rice soup.”</p><p>“I... I’ll ask if C-c-cook will s-s-s-send...”</p><p>“Well, I’ll let you know the ingredients once I figure them out. It’s a little... different... here.”</p><p>Bertie frowned, puzzled at Dean’s sudden hesitation.  “Wh-wha-what d—...”</p><p>“I’m used to canned soup and instant rice. Neither of which exists here.”</p><p>Bertie bit his lip and grabbed his slate.  <i>Might be recipe book in library, or might ask Cook. </i></p><p>Dean nodded. “Thanks, Bertie! There’s always a way.”</p><p>Bertie beamed.</p><p>Sam and David returned a few minutes later, with David scowling deeply.</p><p>“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Dean asked.</p><p>“I don’t have to answer to you,” David snapped.</p><p>“I’m the oldest one here,” Dean pointed out.</p><p>“And I’m Prince Edward of Wales!”</p><p>“So what?”</p><p>“I’m going to be king!”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>David clearly didn’t know how to handle someone being totally unimpressed by the fact that he was second in line for the throne.  His face nearly turned purple.</p><p>“And I don’t really care—because you see?” He smiled. “You’re British. I’m American. You’re not <i>ever</i> going to be <i>my</i> king.”</p><p>David was foolish enough to try to charge at Dean.  Sam had him on the ground and pinned in about two seconds.</p><p>And in those two seconds, Dean had put <i>himself</i> between David and Bertie.</p><p>Bertie felt rather light-headed.  He’d seen guards standing between his family and the public before, but he’d never seen anyone try to protect him from his own brother.</p><p>“You,” Sam growled into David’s ear, “<i>calm down</i>.”</p><p>“What happened, Sammy?” Dean asked.</p><p>“He’s never been downstairs before.”</p><p>Dean frowned.  “Do what, now?”</p><p>“He’s never been downstairs before. Not to the kitchens.”</p><p>“Why the hell not?”</p><p>“I have no idea.”</p><p>Dean turned to look at Bertie. “Have you ever been down there?”</p><p>Bertie nodded.  “I... g-g-got lost.”</p><p>“What did you think?” Dean nodded at Sam to let him up.</p><p>Bertie quickly erased his slate.  <i>Not lost really—curious.  Hid and watched.  Topping place.  Cook does so much all at once! </i></p><p>Dean nodded and asked, “David, what did you think of the kitchens?”</p><p>“Aside from the food, there’s nothing of interest there,” David sneered.  “It’s not like servants deserve our notice.”</p><p>Sam looked like he was trying very hard not to punch David.</p><p>“Sam,” Dean ordered, “get him out of here.”</p><p>Sam grabbed David by the front of his shirt, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him out of the room.</p><p>“Learn from that,” Dean told Bertie. “Learn how to be the kind of king who appreciates everyone.”</p><p>Bertie nodded.  He did appreciate the servants.  A house as big as Sandringham couldn’t function without them, and from what he could see, all of them—well, apart from the ones who wound up getting sacked—were very good at what they did and very smart about the parts of the household that they ran.  He didn’t know if he’d ever be smart enough or strong enough to be a gardener, for example, or a footman.</p><p>There was a knock on the door and the footman brought a tray chock full of food. Dean stared, like he’d never seen so much food in all his life. But there was the bread and butter and cheese.</p><p>The servant left and Dean smiled. “Come on—let’s make sandwiches.”</p><p>Bertie nodded and hurried to wash his hands.</p><p>Under Dean’s direction, the sandwiches were quickly made. The dish was very simple, but it was very tasty—comforting, even.  Bertie ate two. Then they finished half the meal, sending David and Sam the other half.</p><p>Bertie was so full, he found himself nodding.  That was a rare occurrence.</p><p>And so was Dean’s reaction: a kind chuckle.  “Go rest, dude.  You’ll work better after some sleep.”</p><p>Bertie nodded and went to bed, still dazed by the morning’s events.  If this was what having friends was like, he never wanted it to end.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean decided to let Bertie sleep an hour or two. In the meanwhile, he went in to see about David. “Sorry I left you with him,” he told Sam.</p><p>“You sure I can’t beat ’im up?” Sam grumbled.</p><p>“Not yet,” Dean smiled. “Seriously, you’re doing fantastic.”</p><p>Sam sighed and lowered his voice to where only Dean could hear.  “Now I see why the jerk was a Nazi sympathizer.  He seriously thinks he’s better than everybody.”</p><p>“I know. It’s pathetic.”</p><p>“And he’s racist!  I mean, we were talking about science, and he buys the idea that blacks aren’t as evolved as we are!”  Sam threw up his hands.  “I don’t even want to know what Dad or Uncle Bobby would say!”</p><p>“Maybe that’s why we were sent here,” Dean said. “You wanted to understand him better and... well... I understand Bertie.”</p><p>Sam looked a little jealous.  “I noticed.”</p><p>“Sammy, he was an abused child who has trouble talking. It’s the way I was when I was younger. I know how to help him. Always here for you, you know that.”</p><p>Sam ducked his head.  “Sorry.  Bertie does seem like a good kid.”</p><p>“David can rot for all I care,” Dean said for Sam’s ears only. “Come hang out with us. You’re welcome.”</p><p>Sam brightened.  “Seriously?”</p><p>“You’re my brother. Seriously.”</p><p>“Awesome.  Thanks, dude.  Save any grilled cheese for me?”</p><p>“No, but it’s no trouble to make more. Still got enough for two. Come on.”</p><p>“Here!” David piped up when Sam started to follow Dean out of the room.  “Where are you going?”</p><p>Sam smiled. “To spend some time with my big brother. Don’t worry—I’ll come back.” As he turned back, only Dean heard him mutter, “It’s more than you deserve.”</p><p>David opened his mouth to object, but Dean slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders and shot David a look that dared him to say anything.  David shut his mouth in a pout.</p><p>Dean made two more grilled cheese sandwiches for his little brother, which Sam ate gratefully.  Then they chatted quietly until Bertie woke and came out to join them.</p><p>Sam patted the chair beside him, and Bertie took the hint and sat down next to him. “You really do have trouble talking?” Sam asked.</p><p>Bertie nodded.  “I-I-I... ... c-... can’t get w-w-words out s-s-s-s-sometimes.”</p><p>Sam nodded in return and patted his hand. “Dean taught me how to talk as a baby. He taught me everything I know. He’s the best.”</p><p>“W-w-w-w-wish he was m-my b-b-b-brother,” Bertie confessed quietly.</p><p>Dean felt himself blush so hard his ears were burning.</p><p>“I know,” Sam said with a gentle smile. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here... but know that we’re both here for you.”</p><p>Bertie’s smile was a thing of beauty.</p><p>Dean got the literature book and asked if Bertie and Sam could read the next poem, one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, together. One line each.</p><p>Bertie was plainly nervous again, but he took the book and, at Sam’s encouraging nod, began to read:  “L-l... ... let me not t-t-t-to the mmmmmmarriage of t-t-t-true m-m-minds....”</p><p>Sam half-chanted his line, and Bertie heard the rhythm. He tried the same thing with his next line and halfway got it.  As Sam read again, Bertie listened closely and tried again with his next line.  The process repeated until the end of the poem, by which point Bertie was stumbling only once or twice.</p><p>When the poem was done, he looked into Dean’s smiling face. Dean nodded once.</p><p>Sam rubbed his shoulder.  “Good job, Bertie.”</p><p>“You can do it,” Dean added. “I knew you could.”</p><p>Bertie grinned, and Dean felt like a hero.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. What Prime Directive?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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<a href="http://s830.photobucket.com/user/Amberdreams1960/media/SPN-gen%20BB/Rambin%20Rosie/Chapter2.jpg.html"></a><br/>
What Prime Directive?</p>
</div><br/>Over the next two weeks, while John was gone, the Winchesters and Bertie grew closer. David, on the other hand, came close to getting decked at least once a day, but both brothers managed to refrain from hurting him. After all, he <i>was</i> the future king of England. He was a gold-plated idjit, but he did have a title—<i>and</i> he was Bertie’s brother.  Neither Sam nor Dean wanted to risk Prince George and Princess May kicking them out before Dad got back; they could survive on the street if they had to, but they didn’t want to leave Bertie, not when he was thriving at last.<p>The brothers were bummed when John missed Christmas yet again, but the celebration that they and Bertie were included in was almost enough to make them forget John was gone.  A real English Christmas would have been amazing to them at the worst of times, but a royal Edwardian English Christmas?  That was <i>mind-blowing</i>.  Going back to KFC and beer-can wreaths was going to be incredibly hard.</p><p>When John did return, though, he was tired and defeated.  And that had the boys worried.</p><p>“Dad?” Dean asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the civilians.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>John sighed. “I can’t find the counter-spell... we’re stuck here.”</p><p>“Stuck?!” the boys chorused.</p><p>“Until I can find some way of pulling us forward again.”</p><p>“But I thought you said—” Sam began.</p><p>“The library isn’t in Devon.  Nobody over here seems to know what I’m talking about when I ask.  Either my source was wrong, or... hell, maybe he was a Trickster.”</p><p>A deep sigh ripped its way through both boys.</p><p>“There’s a hunt in Oxford.  I’ll try the libraries there next.”</p><p>“When do you leave?” Dean asked. Sam just slipped his hand into his father’s.</p><p>“First thing—it’s a witch from the sound of it, planning something nasty for the new moon.  I know that means I’m missing holidays again, boys, but this can’t wait.  Besides, the longer we’re here, the harder it’ll be for us to leave.”</p><p>Sam smiled slightly. “It’s better than a motel, though.”</p><p>John looked around and chuckled.  “I’ll give you that, Sammy.  You guys doing okay?”</p><p>They nodded.</p><p>“Good.  Good.”  John sighed.  “Guess I’d better get cleaned up and get some rest.  First train leaves awful early.”</p><p>Sam didn’t let go of his hand—a throwback to when he was a toddler that told John more that anything else how much at sea he was.</p><p>John didn’t snap at him, though.  Instead, as much to himself as to Sam, he said, “I’ll find something.  I swear.  We’ll be okay.”</p><p>“What if we don’t want to leave?”</p><p>John frowned.  “Don’t want—why the hell wouldn’t you want to leave?  Don’t tell me you’re not missing computers and calculators and all your other modern gadgets, not to mention the car.”</p><p>“It’s... kinda nice here,” Sam said.</p><p>Dean nodded.</p><p>John shook his head.  “Sam, we can’t stay at Sandringham.  We’re not royals.  I’ve got Prince George’s permission for you to stay here until my ‘mission’ is finished, but after that, we’re leaving—whether we’re still stuck here or not.”</p><p>A familiar rage reared in Sam’s eyes and Dean reached out and pulled him into a hug.</p><p>John ran a hand over his face.  “I’m not arguing about this tonight.  Dean, show me where our room is and where there’s a bathroom.”</p><p>Dean obeyed. John showered quickly and went straight to bed, not even registering that the bed was in the nursery suite.</p><p>But when he woke, it was to the sound of Dean teaching Bertie his math lesson, rudimentary fractions, as they—made breakfast?</p><p>John’s son was teaching a future king of England how to <i>cook</i>?</p><p>That didn’t make sense, and John’s brain was too fogged even to try to sort it out.  Instead, he stumbled to the table.  “Got any coffee, son?”</p><p>Sam brought it in.</p><p>“Thanks.”  John guzzled the coffee and stumbled back in to get dressed.</p><p>He was nearly dressed when a knock sounded on the doorframe of his room.</p><p>“What?” he barked.</p><p>“Breakfast, Dad,” Dean said. But Dean wouldn’t have knocked.</p><p>Frowning, John turned.</p><p>There was Bertie, holding a tray with both hands, Dean right behind him. He looked up and Dean nodded encouragingly. “... G-good m-m-morning, sir.”</p><p>John relaxed a little.  “Morning.  Whatcha got there?”</p><p>“B-B-Breakfast.”</p><p>“You made that for me?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Well, let’s see, then.”</p><p>It was toast and eggs. Simple but filling.</p><p>John nodded.  “Looks good.  Thanks.”</p><p>Bertie grinned and nodded, stepping back and looking proudly at Dean.</p><p>Dean grinned back.  “Go eat yours ’fore it gets cold.”</p><p>He nodded and ran.</p><p>John sat down at the small table in his room.  “How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“What?” Dean asked, bringing him some water.</p><p>“You making breakfast with Bertie.”</p><p>“Few days.”</p><p>John raised an eyebrow and took a bite.  Then his eyes widened as he chewed and swallowed.  “This is good!”</p><p>“He’s really good and he has fun.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, don’t get too attached.  Like I said, soon as I get back from Oxford, we’re leaving.”</p><p>“We’ll see.” Dean stood up.</p><p>John chose to ignore that remark in favor of scarfing down the rest of his breakfast.  It was tasty, but he couldn’t linger; he did have a train to catch.</p>
<hr/><p>“I <i>don’t</i> want to leave,” Sam pouted after John left.</p><p>“You never do,” Dean said. “This time I don’t want to, either. There’s gotta be some reason we landed in the Sandringham courtyard.”</p><p>Sam looked up at Dean.  “You think Dad’s right, that a Trickster is involved?”</p><p>“If so, I’ve gotta say he did us a favor.”</p><p>“Did Bertie a favor, too.”</p><p>“And you,” Dean smiled.</p><p>Sam smiled back.  “For once, I hope Dad doesn’t find what he’s looking for.”</p><p>“You and me, both,” Dean smiled. “Let’s get ready—we’ve got a big day ahead of us. We have to help Davy-boy pack.”</p><p>Sam made a face but followed Dean’s lead.  He didn’t want to help the little jerk, but since David was leaving for boarding school the week after the new year, it was probably their last chance to get back at him by being nice to him.</p>
<hr/><p>Bertie knew exactly what he wanted his New Year’s gift to his mother to be. Dean worked with him until he had it perfectly.</p><p>Sure enough, the time came and Dean squeezed his shoulder with a nod. David said his good-nights and withdrew by himself.</p><p>Then Bertie stepped forward and gave his mother a hug and kiss to her cheek. He stepped back, squeezed her hand, and smiled. Then he opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and said:</p><p>“G-Good night, Mummy.”</p><p>That was all the hesitation there was.</p><p>Princess May’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “... Bertie...” she gasped, crushing him close and kissing the top of his head.</p><p>Prince George’s eyes were not very dry, either.</p><p>“Sire, it’s not a cure,” Dean said, taking a step forward. “It took a lot of practice, and it was something he wanted to do so badly he put in the time.”</p><p>“So he is not cured of the stammer,” Prince George said.</p><p>Dean shook his head. “No, sir. It will likely be with him all his life—but it can be reduced, with practice and effort.” He smiled. “He’s not a hopeless case.”</p><p>Moments later, as they were leaving, Prince George called, “Dean, would you approach, please?”</p><p>Bertie looked up at him with huge eyes, and Dean nodded. “Sammy, take him on back. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”</p><p>Sam nodded and took Bertie’s hand, leading the 7 year old away.</p><p>Dean walked toward the royal couple. “Yes, sir?”</p><p>“I am given to understand that you and your family will be remaining with us for some time.”</p><p>He nodded slowly, “Yes, sir. We are unable to return home as yet.”</p><p>“Perhaps this could be... advantageous. Dean...” The prince sighed. “Dean, I would like you to stay on as Bertie’s governor.”</p><p>Dean frowned. “As his—”</p><p>It was May who laughed. “George, they don’t understand. Dean, we’re asking you to be his teacher and mentor. He adores you, and you are able to reach him like none other has.”</p><p>“But I know nothing about teaching a royal how to be a royal.”</p><p>“Dean,” George smiled. “That boy is more of a royal now than he has ever been. He has a true heart for his subjects. I’m only sorry that he’s not the one who will become king.”</p><p>Dean cleared his throat a little. “Well, who knows?”</p><p>“So you shall stay?” May asked.</p><p>Dean just grinned. “I’m a mercenary American, Ma’am. How much does it pay?” It was clearly a joke, and she laughed warmly.</p><p>George grinned broadly and said, “It pays enough, Dean.”</p>
<hr/><p>Sam approached Bertie two weeks after David left. “What are birthday parties like here?” he asked him, sliding the slate over.</p><p><i>Family or servant? </i>Bertie asked.</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>Bertie’s eyes sparkled as he jotted down ideas.  He didn’t even balk much at Sam’s suggestion that they have pie rather than cake.</p><p>
  <i>When? </i>
</p><p>“The 24th,” Sam whispered conspiratorially.</p><p>Bertie nodded sagely.  <i>I’ll arrange it with Cook. </i></p><p>Sam hugged the 7 year old. They were becoming fast friends.</p><p>
  <i>Will your father be here? </i>
</p><p>“I hope not.”</p><p>Bertie frowned.  “Wh-wh-why not?”</p><p>“He’ll make us go away.”</p><p>“B-b-b-but you c-... can’t!  D-D-D-D-D-Dean’s...”</p><p>“Dean’s what?”</p><p>Bertie’s throat seemed to close up on him entirely in his distress, so he gave up and grabbed the slate.  <i>Dean’s only just been hired!  Father won’t let him go!  I won’t let him go! </i></p><p>“But you see? Our father doesn’t know.”</p><p>Bertie’s eyes flashed with determination.  <i>Then we’ll tell him. </i></p>
<hr/><p>John returned the next day. Oxford had been a bust.  He’d ransacked the Cambridge libraries, too, to no avail.  The hunt had been something of a relief, but he had no idea what he was going to do now, how he’d provide for the boys in an age when there were no credit cards to scam and a country so small, he didn’t know if he could dodge the law if things went sideways.</p><p>When he saw Dean, he was sitting with Bertie, working on vocal exercises.</p><p>“Having a good time?” he asked.</p><p>Dean smiled at him.</p><p>John smiled back and went straight to bed, barely remembering to take his boots off.  He was too stressed and exhausted to do anything else.</p><p>The next morning, John went to take his leave of the prince and princess, but Dean and Bertie were in the room when he got there.</p><p>“Your Majesties,” John said with a nod.  “Is Dean in trouble?”</p><p>“In trouble?” Princess May frowned, looking at her husband. “Why would you think that?”</p><p>John floundered.  “Uh, no... reason.  What’s going on?”</p><p>“We wanted to talk to you about your quest,” Prince George said.</p><p>John blinked.  “Yes, sir?”</p><p>“Perhaps it is time to abandon it.”</p><p>John wasn’t sure he’d heard right.  “Abandon it.”</p><p>“At least... the part where you will remove your sons from us.”</p><p>“Sir, I... I really don’t think... I mean, I can’t impose....”</p><p>Mary smiled. “Dean is the best governor we have ever hired for Bertie.”</p><p>Dean flushed.</p><p>John fought down his sudden panic.  “Ma’am, sir, would you excuse us a moment?  I need to have a word with my son.”</p><p>George, with a gesture, indicated they were to go to the corridor.</p><p>John led Dean out.  Once the doors were closed, though he kept his voice low, he exploded.  “What the <i>hell</i>, Dean?!”</p><p>Dean just looked at him.</p><p>“You let them <i>hire</i> you?!  You—you can’t—we can’t just go around changing history at will!”</p><p>“We already have—just by being here.”</p><p>“We’re talking about the future king of England here!”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>John just stared at Dean for a moment.  “I cannot understand this attitude of yours, Dean.”</p><p>“No, sir? Why not?”</p><p>John ran a hand through his hair.  “Look.  It’s my fault we’re here; it’s my fault we’re stuck.  But you have to know the dangers of staying put, even now.  And this isn’t just some random family you’ve befriended or some random babysitting job you’ve taken.”</p><p>“I’m not babysitting, Dad.”</p><p>“No?  What are you doing, then?”</p><p>“I am the governor—the trainer and educator—of a future king.”</p><p>“And what makes any of you think this is smart?”</p><p>“What makes you think it isn’t?”</p><p>John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “Look, son, the things that are gunning for us... there’s no guarantee that we’ve lost ’em by coming here.  And besides, you’re <i>fifteen</i>.  You’re smart enough to tutor Bertie, sure, but what business do you have trying to teach him how to be king?”</p><p>“Things have already changed, Dad.”</p><p>“What things?”</p><p>“David is gone, four years early.”</p><p>John blinked.  “Wha—whose idea was that?”</p><p>“His mother’s. She hoped it would make him kinder. We both know it won’t.”</p><p>John ran a hand through his hair again, trying to ignore the way said hand was shaking.  “Leaving’s going to be even more dangerous than staying, is that what you’re telling me?”</p><p>“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”</p><p>“<i>Dammit</i>.”  John hoped Dean didn’t notice the way his voice almost broke.  He was so far out of his depth, he might as well be snorkeling in the Marianas Trench.</p><p>Dean stayed silent. He’d said his piece.</p><p>John cursed under his breath as he tried to pull himself together.  He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.  But if palace life was going to become their Situation Normal, he needed to get his act together and fast.  He wished wildly for Jim, Bobby, Ellen, <i>anyone</i> who could ground him, tell him what to do—but they weren’t here.  He and the boys were, and Dean currently had one future King of England who thought he hung the moon and one very cushy job to show for it.</p><p>John didn’t know what to do with himself.  But it was pretty clear what he needed to do with the boys.</p><p>He took a deep breath and let it out again.  “Okay.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes widened. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting capitulation.</p><p>“For the record, I’m not happy about any of this.  But I don’t know what else to do.  I can’t find the counter-spell.  You’ve got Bertie to look after on top of Sammy.  And this place beats the hell out of anyplace we could scam our way into even in our own day, never mind now.”</p><p>Dean smiled. Then he grabbed his father’s arm. “One more thing, Dad.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me the butler’s a vampire.”</p><p>Dean laughed, then sobered. “If you even <i>think</i> of booking passage on a certain ship in ’12—I will personally hunt you down.”</p><p>John smiled wryly.  “Hadn’t even thought that far ahead, son.  But duly noted.”</p><p>“What will you do?”</p><p>“I don’t know yet.  But I’ll... I’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“We need to go back in.”</p><p>John nodded and squeezed Dean’s shoulder, suddenly noticing how grown up he looked.  His little boy was nearly a man.  And John was damn proud of him.  “Let’s go.”</p><p>They walked in and Dean bowed expertly to the prince and princess before going right to Bertie.</p><p>John cleared his throat nervously as Prince George looked at him.  “Well, sir, ma’am... it seems my boys are actually needed here.  I’m not sure of my own plans, but as long as you’re pleased with the job Dean’s doing, I... see no reason for them not to stay.”</p><p>The prince and princess beamed at him. “He has done our Bertie a world of good,” May pointed out.</p><p>Bertie nodded vigorously in agreement.</p><p>“When you figure out what you want to do,” Prince George said, “we shall attempt to aid you in any way we can.”</p><p>John nodded slowly.  “Thank you.  That... that means a lot.”</p><p>“Is all settled with your sons?” George asked.</p><p>“Is with Dean.  I haven’t talked to Sammy yet.”</p><p>“Might I recommend you begin there?”</p><p>John nodded again.  “I’ll do that.  Thank you, sir.  Ma’am.”  He bowed slightly to both adults and headed back to the nursery.</p><p>Sam was working on “lessons”—and birthday plans.</p><p>“Hey, Sammy,” John said as he walked up behind Sam.</p><p>“Dad.” Sam didn’t turn.</p><p>“Listen, I’ve... just had a long talk with Dean and with... with Bertie’s folks.”  John didn’t know why it suddenly felt more natural to put it that way.</p><p>“And?” There was mistrust in the young voice.</p><p>“I’ll be staying at least through Dean’s birthday.  But, um... when I do... I mean, if I take off again... you boys won’t be coming with me.”</p><p>His jaw dropped as he turned to face his father. “... seriously?”</p><p>John nodded.  “Dean put me wise as to what’s been going on, how things are changing.  We’d do more damage by leaving now than you boys would by staying.  You’ll be safe here, looked after.  I’ll want to ward this suite, but... anyway....”</p><p>“It’s already warded.”</p><p>John’s eyebrows shot up.  “Show me.”</p><p>Sam showed him. There were sigils worked into the woodwork—done when the palace was built, looked like, which was surprising. John didn’t recognize all of them, but the ones he did recognize suggested that the demon that had possessed the nanny had to have been more powerful than it seemed. “And we’ve salted the windows and doors every day,” Sam finished.</p><p>John nodded and squeezed Sam’s shoulder.  “Keep it up.  Like I told Dean, I have no way of knowing whether the things that were gunning for us back home will still be after us here.”</p><p>“Why were they gunning for us?” Sam asked.</p><p>John was debating whether and how much to tell him when Dean and Bertie returned.  He sighed.  “Bertie, would you excuse us?  Sammy, Dean, come in here, please.”  He nodded toward his room.</p><p>Bertie frowned, but Dean nodded, so he retreated.</p><p>Once John and the boys were in John’s room, he shut the door and tried to figure out where to begin.  “You know why I started hunting, right?”</p><p>“Mom was murdered by something not human,” Sam said.</p><p>“That’s right.  I’ve been trying to find out what and why ever since.  And before we came here, I got an answer.”</p><p>“Tell us,” they chorused.</p><p>John hesitated.  “It... it might not matter anymore—if I can find it now, stop it now....”</p><p>“Dad,” Dean warned.</p><p>“Dammit, Dean, I just want you boys safe—”</p><p>“Well, we’re not and we won’t be until you stop with the damned secrets!”</p><p>John sighed heavily.  “It was a demon.”</p><p>They looked at each other, then back at him. Dean said, “Go on.”</p><p>“Evidently, your mom... she... saw something she wasn’t supposed to.  He killed her before she could try to do anything about it.”</p><p>“What did she see?” Sam asked.</p><p>“Sam, I can’t—”</p><p>“Then you can leave and never come back,” Dean cut him off. “And I can have the king’s men enforce it.”</p><p>“Dean!”</p><p>“Stop. Hiding. Information.”</p><p>The muscle in John’s jaw twitched before he ground out, “The demon did something to Sam.  I don’t have details.  All I know is, my source called him the Boy King of Hell.”</p><p>Sam went pale. “Who was your source?”</p><p>“Another demon.”</p><p>“And you believed a demon?” Sam asked firmly.</p><p>“Do I have a choice?  It fits the evidence.  The fire started in your nursery—Mary died over your crib.”</p><p>“So,” Sam said slowly. “I’m the king of hell and it’s my fault Mom is dead.”</p><p>John froze.  “I didn’t say that.”</p><p>“It’s what you really think, though. It shows in how you’ve treated me since you found out. I suddenly went from your baby boy to something you couldn’t stand to look at.”</p><p>“That’s not fair, Sammy.”</p><p>“No. But it’s the truth.”</p><p>“I notice you’re not denying it, Dad,” Dean said levelly.</p><p>“I don’t know <i>what</i> I really think,” John protested.  “What I know is that demons look at Sam that way.”</p><p>“And so do you,” Sam said.</p><p>“That’s enough, Sam.”  John felt a headache coming on.  <i>Did</i> he think of Sam that way, really?  “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”</p><p>Sam stood up. “I am not the king of anything. I will not become evil. No matter what.”</p><p>“You say that now,” John muttered, not realizing that he’d said it aloud.</p><p>“And I mean it!” Sam bellowed. “And I don’t even want to know how you can justify blaming a six month old baby for Mom’s death! You hate me!” With that, he stormed out of the room—careful not to muss the salt line.</p><p>“Samuel Francis Winchester, you get back here!”</p><p>“Go to Hell!” Sam bellowed. “Oh, wait—since I’m apparently going to be KING there, DON’T go there! I don’t want you to have to suffer looking at the face of the kid who killed your wife!”</p><p>Dean winced.</p><p>“That is ENOUGH!” John barked.  “Whatever else you may be, you are still my son, and I will not tolerate that kind of attitude from you!”</p><p>“Look at his eyes,” Dean said, catching his father’s arm. “Ratchet it back a couple of notches and <i>look at his eyes</i>.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes were blazing with hurt, grief and anger.</p><p>John never had quite known how to deal with those emotions in his boys, and he didn’t know what to do now that they were directed at him—especially since he was still dealing with hurts and griefs of his own.  He couldn’t say he was sorry because he didn’t know that he’d said anything to be sorry for.  All he could think to do was repeat, “Sam.  You’re still my son.”</p><p>“I’m a little boy,” Sam half-sobbed. “I’m not this thing the demons say I am.”</p><p>“Hell, boy, that’s the reason I brought you here with me.  I want you <i>safe</i>—can’t you understand that?”</p><p>“You’re not punishing me?” And that was the first time John realised that Sam genuinely thought that. “By making me stop everything I love and pulling me away from every place and everybody I grew attached to?”</p><p>“Sammy, no, it’s never been that.  We’ve never been safe staying in one place for long.  We had to keep moving, going where the hunts were, so we could try to keep one step ahead of this thing.”</p><p>“That’s... that’s <i>crazy</i>.”</p><p>John took a step forward.  “I don’t expect you to understand.  What I do expect you to understand is that your family matters more than soccer games and math championships.  Me and Dean, we’re what you can trust.  We’re who you should love.  And if you want to stay out of the demons’ hands, you’ll do that.”</p><p>“And my happiness isn’t important to you,” Sam countered.</p><p>“We are at war.  Happiness has nothing to do with it.”</p><p>“We are a hundred years in the <i>past</i>. That war is <i>over</i>.”</p><p>“We <i>hope</i>,” John cautioned.  “That’s one reason I’m letting you boys stay here.  But we cannot let down our guard, not until we know for sure.”</p><p>“And you don’t trust Dean to keep me safe?”</p><p>“Dean can’t be with you all the time.”</p><p>Rage reared up again. “Well, guess what, Dad? YOU ARE ALWAYS GONE.”</p><p>Dean grabbed Sam. “Cool off.”</p><p>“Dean, he—”</p><p>“Cool. <i>Off</i>.”</p><p>Sam grumbled and went into the bathroom.</p><p>“I’ll be back later,” John said.  “Not goin’ far.”  And he stormed out of the nursery.</p><p>Dean sighed. Bertie found him sitting with his head in his hands.</p><p>“D-D-D-D... D-D...” Bertie half-choked, which turned into a hiccup.</p><p>“Hey.” He stood up. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Y-y-y-y-yyyyyour...” Bertie couldn’t get anything else out verbally, but a tear slipped down his cheek.</p><p>“Aw, Bertie....”</p><p>Bertie tried again to say something, failed, and settled for giving Dean a crushing hug.</p><p>Dean rocked him.</p><p>Sam came out of the bathroom then and paused.  “Oh, so it’s Bertie who gets hugs now, huh?” he sneered.</p><p>Dean held out an arm for Sam.</p><p>Sam hesitated, still scowling, before stomping over and accepting the hug.</p><p>Dean held on tight.</p><p>“’M I still your brother, Dean?”</p><p>“Always and forever, Sammy. Always. And. Forever.”</p><p>“’Cuz Dad....”</p><p>“Isn’t... completely sane.”</p><p>“You... you think any of it’s true?”</p><p>“I think you were attacked and the... creatures... are trying to force you into what Dad claims they say.”</p><p>Sam deflated a little.</p><p>“But ultimately—you decide your own fate and future.”</p><p>“I don’t wanna go that way,” he whispered.</p><p>“Then don’t. We all have a choice.” He looked at Bertie. “Everyone has a choice as to what kind of man they are.”</p><p>“E-even k-k-k-k-kings?” Bertie asked, turning his tear-streaked face up to look at Dean.</p><p>“Even kings,” Dean said. “You can be a tyrant or a compassionate man.”</p><p>“I w—I w-w-want to be c-c—” The word got stuck, but everyone knew what he meant.</p><p>Sam rubbed his arm.</p><p>John came back and paused just outside the nursery door just as Bertie threw an arm around Sam and hugged both brothers at once.  He stood there a moment, watching, realizing that maybe letting the boys stay was a better choice than it had seemed at first.</p><p>Rather than intruding on the moment and possibly provoking another fight, John decided to see whether he could find the palace library.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The New Normal</h2></a>
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<a href="http://s830.photobucket.com/user/Amberdreams1960/media/SPN-gen%20BB/Rambin%20Rosie/Chapter3.jpg.html"></a><br/>
The New Normal</p>
</div><br/>John was used to being shaken awake just after dawn. He wasn’t used to opening his eye and seeing a 7 year old someday-King of England shaking his arm and vibrating with impatient joy. “... what?”<p>“It’s D-D-D-D-D-... D-Dean’s b-b...”</p><p>“Dean’s been hurt?”</p><p>Bertie huffed.  “No!  It’s his b-b-b-birthday!”</p><p>John huffed in return. “Is <i>that</i> all?” Then he realized what he’d said and winced. “Sorry—I don’t wake up easy.”</p><p>“S-S-S-Sam’s making c-c... c-c-coffee,” Bertie offered contritely.</p><p>“And Dean’s... asleep, still?”</p><p>Bertie nodded</p><p>John nods too. “Okay, Highness—you head on and let me get up.”</p><p>Bertie nodded again and scurried off.</p><p>John felt like a complete heel. How could he have forgotten! Granted, he had more important things but—He cut that thought off quickly. Nothing was more important than his boys. Nothing. He did everything he did for them.</p><p>And today Dean turned 16.  He was old enough now to drive, to have his own gun, to....</p><p>Then John remembered where—<i>when</i>—they were, and his heart sank.  He’d planned to give Dean the Impala today, along with a beautiful pearl-handled M1911 that would suit him perfectly.  But it was 1903... neither of those gifts existed yet.  And John hadn’t remembered to get anything else.</p><p>“Come on,” Sam said to John from the doorway. “Let’s wake him.”</p><p>John sighed heavily and got up.  “Believe it or not, Sammy, I actually did have plans for today.  They just... kind of got torpedoed by our being stuck here.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like giving Dean the car.”</p><p>Sam winced. “But we’re here.”</p><p>“We weren’t supposed to be,” John muttered.</p><p>“But. we. are.”</p><p>“I’m aware of that, thank you.”</p><p>Sam held up his hand. “I know what my present to Dean is going to be.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”</p><p>Sam took a deep breath. “From this moment on, for today, I’m not going to fight with you.”</p><p>John blinked a couple of times, then sighed and hugged Sam briefly.  “I’ll try to make it easier for you, then.  And that’ll be mine.”</p><p>Sam clung to him for a moment. “Let’s go give him that present, then.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>Dean looked up to see the pair come into the nursery. “What is it?”</p><p>“Happy birthday, Dean,” father and son said—in perfect unison.</p><p>Dean’s response was an instant widening of the eyes and a gasped, “<i>Christo!</i>”</p><p>John snorted.  “Son, how the hell you figure anything’s getting in here, as well as this place is warded?”</p><p>“You and Sammy are gettin’ along—figured you must be possessed.”</p><p>“That’s the surprise,” Sam replied.  “One day only—no fights, guaranteed.  <i>Christa patriarcha la supo defender</i>.”</p><p>Suddenly his father had an armful of shaking sixteen-year-old.</p><p>John rubbed Dean’s back.  “Wish I could give you something more, Champ.”</p><p>“You can,” he whispered.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>Dean pulled back. “Work to make this permanent.” He looked at Sam. “Both of you.”</p><p>“I’ll try,” John promised.</p><p>“Sammy?”</p><p>Sam looked at John warily, then down at the floor as he scuffed at it with his shoe for a moment.  Then he sighed and nodded.  “I’ll try.”</p><p>Dean nodded. “Good. You do realize something, don’t you, Sammy?”</p><p>Sam looked up.  “What?”</p><p>“I’m not leaving. I’ve been hired, I’m a member of the king’s household. And as my brother—so are you.” He took a deep breath. “So what we once knew as ‘normal’—it’s gone.”</p><p>“G-g-g-g-good,” Bertie said firmly.</p><p>Three heads spun to face him. They had forgotten the prince was there!</p><p>“B-b-b-birthdays are f-for celebrating,” Bertie continued matter-of-factly.  “So l-l-let’s celeb-b-brate.”</p><p>Dean nodded, but his attention was back on Sam. He needed to make sure Sam understood – and was okay.</p><p>Sam had one of those expressions that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be, but his mouth kept trying to curl upward into a smile. Seeing that, Dean broke into one of his own. Sam gave in and smiled back.  And so did John.</p><p>“So!” Dean clapped his hands together. “It’s my birthday! So where’s the pie?”</p><p>Everyone laughed, and Bertie grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him to the table.</p>
<hr/><p>The weeks turned into months, and Bertie and Sam both thrived under Dean’s teaching. John came and went, taking hunts and continuing to search libraries for the counter-spell that would take them back to the 1990s.  He never found it, but he did find an unexpected new position—Prince George’s Hunter.</p><p>He stared at the prince for a long time before he found his voice. “... you want... to make me... what?”</p><p>“As Prince of Wales, I am naturally concerned with the safety of my people,” Prince George replied.  “We have the Yard and the Army for the usual sorts of threats, but should word of supernatural threats reach me, I should like very much to have one man ready to hand on whom I can rely.”</p><p>His jaw slammed open. “... but... where did I mess up?”</p><p>Prince George chuckled.  “You haven’t.  I’ve encountered hunters a time or two before.  You’re not a priest, yet you knew the Roman exorcism and spotted the demon in my sons’ nanny in next to no time.  We royals aren’t all as simple as you Americans think, you know.”</p><p>“Americans seem to be,” John breathed.</p><p>“That’s not true, either.  Your sons certainly aren’t, and that intelligence had to come from somewhere.  And though we’ve not talked much, I’ve no doubt you’re as clever as they.”</p><p>“Yes, but I would still be fooling Americans.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d be fooling quite a lot of people.  Most people choose to see what they want to see, what they expect to see.”  Prince George paused.  “The King of England doesn’t have that luxury.  Nor does the Prince of Wales.”</p><p>“Your father... knows?”</p><p>“No, not at the moment.  Unless I place you on the payroll, neither he nor Parliament need learn of it.  I was speaking generally.  Though be advised, Father is likely to see through you if you present yourself as anything other than Dean’s father.”</p><p>John nodded.</p><p>“Good.  I’m sure the lads will be glad to have you here on a more permanent basis.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure about that,” John muttered even as he bowed to take his leave.</p><p>Dean looked up as John walked into the nursery.  “Hey, Dad.”</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“What’d Prince George want?”</p><p>John took a breath—and told him the truth.</p><p>Dean blinked a couple of times.  “You... you mean you’re... you’re not leaving?” He sounded young suddenly, as if he’d heard something he’d seldom dared hope.</p><p>“By order of the Prince of Wales.”</p><p>Dean whooped.  “Sammy!”</p><p>Sam raced out.</p><p>“Now, I will be going on hunts still... small ones....”</p><p>Dean ignored John’s caveat.  “Dad’s STAYING!”</p><p>Sam’s jaw dropped. “He IS?”</p><p>“Bertie’s dad’s orders!”</p><p>Sam raced across the room to hug his father—then froze, staring up at him. He was still uncertain how he would be seen.</p><p>John stared back for a moment, then held out his arms.</p><p>That was all it took. With a single sob, Sam ran into his arms.</p><p>The strength of the hug surprised John, causing him to flounder a moment before cradling the back of Sam’s head in his hand.  “Aw, Sammy....”</p><p>“I’m your son,” Sam whispered. “That’s all. Not what those asses told you.”</p><p>John didn’t say anything for fear of spoiling the moment.  He just tightened his grip and hoped Sam understood.</p><p>Dean scanned his face, looking for what he was thinking.</p><p>John wasn’t sure what to think or say, though his eyes felt suspiciously prickly.  Finally, though, he cleared his throat to try to get rid of the lump that was sitting there and said, “Guess this means I gotta brush up on my manners, huh?”</p><p>Dean nodded. He wasn’t sure what his father thought of Sammy, and until he knew—he was reserving judgment, though he was elated that his father was there.</p><p>“Hey, Sammy.”</p><p>Sam looked up at him.</p><p>“What say we go teach Bertie how to play baseball?”</p><p>“He’s left-handed,” Dean said. “Don’t switch him.”</p><p>John nodded once in understanding, then looked back at Sam.  “Well, kiddo?  You think your old man can still pitch?”</p><p>“My old man never could.”</p><p>John raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Dean always pitched. He said you couldn’t.”</p><p>John raised both eyebrows at Dean, who shrugged, and said, “Well, let’s go find out, huh?”</p><p>Sam finally gave him a ghost of a smile.  “Okay.”</p>
<hr/><p>Whenever John would chafe and feel he had to go after that which killed his wife, the brothers and the Royals would suddenly find ways for him to be busy until he could snap out of it. And life went on like this for nearly eight years.</p><p>Then Dean went to a morning meeting with the Prince and Princess—and came into Bertie’s apartments pale as a sheet.</p><p>“D-D-D-Dean?” Bertie asked.  “W-wh-what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Bertie....we are to go see your parents. They wouldn’t tell me why—but I can guess.”</p><p>Bertie paled, too.  “W-w-w-what?”</p><p>Dean looked over at his brother—who had turned 19 only days before and gotten permission from his tutor at Oxford to come home for his birthday—and said, “It’s 1910.”</p><p>Sam shook his head slowly, then froze, his eyes going wide.</p><p>Bertie looked from one brother to the other several times in alarm but couldn’t say anything.</p><p>“Come on, Bertie,” Dean said. “Put your shoes on—we need to go.”</p><p>Bertie let out a tiny whimper and went to put his shoes on.</p><p>Sam stood. “I’ll get Father.”</p><p>“Sure thing, College Boy,” Dean teased, needing to lighten the mood somehow.  Sam had absorbed far more educated-British mannerisms and speech patterns than Dean had in their time at Sandringham, and the trend had become even more pronounced now that he was studying at Oxford.</p><p>Sam smiled despite the tense atmosphere and knocked on his father’s doors. “Father....”</p><p>“How many times do I hafta ask you not to call me that, Sammy?” John grumbled, setting down the gun he was cleaning.</p><p>“Dad... it’s 1910—and we’ve been Summoned.”</p><p>John frowned. “It’s 19—”  Then he broke off with a curse and grabbed his jacket.</p><p>They all went—Dean with a hand on Bertie’s shoulder the entire time. And soon they were in the throne room—and five-year-old Prince John rested in his mother’s arms as a strange silence permeated the room.</p><p>The prince was pacing, hands rubbing together.</p><p>Finally, Bertie summoned the courage to stutter out, “F-F-F-F-Father?”</p><p>“Son.” He turned to him. “I—” And his head snapped around as a door opened on the other side—and admitted a vicar.</p><p>Swallowing hard, the vicar licked his lips and announced, “The... The king is dead.” His eyes turned to Prince George. “Long... Long live the King.”</p><p>Bertie forced himself not to sob as he and everyone else in the room bowed to the new King George V.</p><p>George reached over to his curtsying wife—palm up.</p><p>She rose and placed her hand in his.</p><p>“Victoria or Mary?” he whispered for her ears only.</p><p>“Mary,” she whispered back.  “We’ve no need for a second Victoria so soon.”</p><p>He nodded and raised her hand, kissing it. His voice carried. “Long live Her Majesty, Queen Mary.”</p><p>Everyone bowed again, except the youngest prince—who still slept peacefully with his head on his mother’s shoulder.</p><p>George turned to David next.  “Long live His Royal Highness, Edward, Prince of Wales.”</p><p>David smirked at the bows.</p><p>Then George turned to Bertie.  “Long live His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, Duke of York.”</p><p>Dean squeezed Bertie’s shoulder before he came and bowed with the others.</p><p>Bertie fought hard to keep his composure.  He knew Mother wouldn’t want him blubbering—no matter how much he wanted to.</p><p>Titles were given to their sister and brothers, and then their father’s hand rubbed the sleeping Prince John—named after Dean’s father—on his back.</p><p>“Long live His Royal Highness, Prince John,” George said.  But somehow, maybe from the look on Dean’s face as everyone bowed, Bertie knew his poor epileptic baby brother wouldn’t live that long after all.</p><p>Somehow, Dean knew things that were going to happen. Bertie still didn’t quite get it, but he knew and he trusted Dean.</p><p>Soon—too soon in some respects, not soon enough in others—the gathering dispersed.</p><p>Dean sighed. “Now you will instruct me, Bertie... on coronation protocol.”</p><p>Bertie nodded.  “W-w-w-w-we’ve... got s-s-s-some time... I think.  Y-... y-you’ll come, then?”</p><p>“If I am allowed, I will be there.”</p><p>“I’ll... ... ... see to it.”</p><p>Dean smiled at him, proudly.</p><p>“D-D-D-Dean, y-you’re my... b-b-best friend.  I... I w-w-want you there.”</p><p>Dean hugged him. “I’ll do it.”</p><p>“Still hanging about with the Americans, B-B-B-Bertie?” David sneered.</p><p>“No,” Bertie said. “I’m h-hanging... about with... my f-friends.” There was very little hesitation.</p><p>Dean and Sam both stepped in front of Bertie, shielding him from David.  “Damn straight,” Dean snarled.</p><p>David sneered but passed on.</p><p>While the small ego contest was going on across the room, George approached John. “You will be at the coronation, of course.”</p><p>“I’m not a British citizen. I’m not certain I—”</p><p>“John Winchester,” the new king interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The King’s Hunter <i>will</i> be at the coronation. And you will be <i>armed</i>.”</p><p>John’s frown deepened.  “You expecting trouble?”</p><p>“No. But to not take advantage of every resource as precaution would be foolish. And I am not a fool.”</p><p>John nodded slowly.  Then a corner of his mouth turned up a bit.  “The King’s Hunter, huh?  Has a nice ring to it.”</p><p>George squeezed his shoulder. “You are more than my Hunter, John. You are a friend.”</p><p>John’s smile broadened.  “Thanks, George.  I know I’m not always easy to like, but... your friendship means a lot.”</p><p>“I know of nobody else foolhardy enough not to hold back when shooting mere clay pigeons, to say nothing of the way you hunt fox.”</p><p>John snorted.  “There’s a reason they call us Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children.”</p><p>George laughed, then turned to his wife, who was walking up. “I take it Little John needs to rest?”</p><p>“If he’s to convince Bertie to be his Robin Hood,” May teased, then sobered.  “Sister tells me he had another attack last night.”</p><p>George turned to John. “You are certain—absolutely <i>certain</i>—that this is nothing spiritual?”</p><p>John nodded.  “Absolutely.  And I don’t know of a cure.  I’m sorry.”</p><p>George sighed.  “Then we ensure his comfort.”</p><p>“Best thing you can do,” John agreed.</p><p>Mary put a hand on his arm. “We need to handle arrangements, George.”</p><p>George nodded.  “Excuse us, John.”</p><p>“Sire,” John nodded and bowed slightly as they went.</p>
<hr/><p>King Edward’s funeral took a lot of planning and resulted in a lot of hoopla, and making the arrangements for the coronation took over a year. Bertie was a good teacher, though, and soon Dean and Sam knew what to do. John was less confident in his own role—what the hell was the King’s Hunter supposed to do, anyway?</p><p>George called for John one morning shortly before the day of the coronation.</p><p>John bowed slightly as he walked in.  “Your Majesty.”</p><p>“John. Come here.”</p><p>John came closer.</p><p>“You will come with me today. We are going to meet with Archbishop Davidson and he will show us coronation protocol.”</p><p>John nodded.  “Yes, sir.”</p><p>“And John... do not let the archbishop intimidate you.”</p><p>John raised an eyebrow.  “Archbishops never intimidate me.”</p><p>“They do me,” George admitted.</p><p>“Hell, I guess I just don’t scare easy anymore.  Killin’ wendigos will do that to you.”</p><p>George frowned. “Wen.....”</p><p>“It’s a monster, lives mostly in Ojibwa country.  Used to be a man who turned cannibal; lost enough of his humanity to turn man-eating monster.”</p><p>George’s nose wrinkled. “Sounds... terrible.”</p><p>John nodded.  “Yeah, they’re pretty nasty.  Not as nasty as vampires, but...”</p><p>George shuddered. “Let’s be off.”</p><p>John nodded and followed him.  Sure enough, he didn’t let the archbishop intimidate him.  In fact, Archbishop Davidson was downright friendly once he’d heard John’s surname, since he’d been Bishop of Winchester before being named Archbishop of Canterbury.</p><p>And at the coronation, John stood beside George’s chair, quietly armed, and silently on guard. Sam and Dean flanked Bertie, much to David’s displeasure; Dean also had Henry and Georgie to look after, while Sam held hands with little Princess Mary. David stood alone—and unaccountably lonely. And May was clearly trying not to worry about Prince John, who was too ill to attend.</p><p>A nurse eased up to May just before her turn to be crowned and whispered that her son was sleeping well. She relaxed and got through the rest of the ceremony without visible jitters.</p><p>After the coronation, they went on the balcony to greet their subjects. Dean and Sam stayed hidden. So did John, but he was tense.  Not knowing who—or what—was outside in the crowd made it hard for him to relax.  There were plenty of guards who could deal with a human threat, sure, and he had made sure the flowers and bunting were wired to the railing with iron and silver wire, but still... he’d feel better when everyone was back inside.</p><p>David was the first in, and he walked right by the Winchesters without giving them a second look. Bertie, on the other hand, walked right over to Sam and Dean, tugging at his collar with a shaking hand</p><p>Dean hugged the teenager. “You’re doin’ fine.”</p><p>“T-t-t-t-t—...” Bertie couldn’t get the thought out and just gave up with a sigh, returning the hug.</p><p>A squeeze, and Dean let him go.</p><p>“What’s next?” Sam asked.</p><p>“Life goes on,” John said.</p><p>“I s-s-s-suppose I shall h—... have to g-g-go back to s-school soon,” Bertie said miserably.</p><p>“You don’t like it there?” Dean asked, frowning.</p><p>“D-D-D-Dartmouth’s... b-better than... Osborne... b-b-but it isn’t home.”</p><p>There was the familiar look in Dean’s eyes. He wanted to bring his family home.</p><p>“Bertie,” George said gravely, coming up behind his son.  “You’ve your duty to do for your country.  You’re staying in the Navy, and that’s final.”</p><p>“Y-Yes, sir.”</p><p>Dean sighed but didn’t say anything.</p><p>Sam shrugged.  “You never know.  The way technology’s changing, something might come up soon that’ll grab your interest.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes widened and he started to smile.</p><p>Bertie frowned a little, puzzled. “T-t-t-t-tech...”</p><p>“Technology,” Dean translated. “Machinery.”</p><p>Sam nodded.  “Yeah, if the Wright brothers can succeed in developing an airplane that has military uses, it could revolutionize naval warfare.”</p><p>Bertie’s eyes automatically went to the sky.</p><p>“Oh, dear, you’ve given him ideas,” George chuckled, but he didn’t actually seem displeased.</p><p>John even was smiling.</p><p>Dean’s stomach suddenly growled loudly.  He smiled sheepishly. “Uh, sorry, hate to ask this, but when do we eat?”</p><p>Laughter rang out at that, and the weird tension dissolved.</p><p>And life went on.  Dean stayed at Sandringham, tutoring Henry and Georgie when he wasn’t needed to help John.  John’s schedule shifted to match the king’s more often than not, and he traveled with George and May to places like India where he might be needed to keep monsters at bay.  Bertie stuck with his studies at the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth, as little as he liked them.  And Sam thrived in the intellectual climate at Oxford.</p><p>Sam continued to come home to Sandringham between terms, however.  And shortly before he left for Hilary Term in January of 1912, Dean came into the communications room to find him working the telegraph and smiling. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Finalising my tickets,” he smiled at Dean. “My class is heading to New York in April for a trip.”</p><p>Dean instantly paled and shook his head. “No, that’s April 10, you’re not—”</p><p>“And it’s on a White Star Line ship—top of the line!” When Dean looked ready to pass out, Sam laughed. “Dude, <i>CHILL</i>, okay? I remember my history—it’s April 5th, and it’s the <i>Olympic</i>, not the <i>Titanic</i>!”</p><p>Dean swiped at his shoulder. “Don’t DO that to me! Geesh!”</p><p>Sam laughed and enjoyed his private joke with his brother for some time.  He didn’t realize just how much Dean would continue to fear for his family’s safety throughout the spring.</p><p>And not having come into his powers, he had no way of knowing how justified that fear would turn out to be.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax</h2></a>
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<a href="http://s830.photobucket.com/user/Amberdreams1960/media/SPN-gen%20BB/Rambin%20Rosie/Chapter4.jpg.html"></a><br/>
Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax</p>
</div><br/>As soon as he watched the car leave Sandringham to take Sam to the train to Southampton in April, Dean went in to see if John needed anything. He found him in the library researching. “What’s up?”<p>“Got a hunt,” John replied.  “Got a suspect, too.  Can’t tell if it’s a were or a Spring-heeled Jack or what, though.  Probably gonna have to tail him to find out.”</p><p>“Tail him where?”</p><p>The reply was a little distracted.  “Southampton.  Looks like he’s planning to flee the country before Scotland Yard can catch up to him.</p><p>“When’s the sail date?”</p><p>“Waiting for confirmation from the Yard, but best guess is the 10th.”  John paused, blinked, and looked at Dean then.  “Why?”</p><p>Dean shook his head. “You’re not tailing that man, Dad.”</p><p>John frowned.  “Yes, I am, son.  I can’t let him kill again.”</p><p>“Dad – there’s only one ship that sailed from Southampton on the 10th of April. <i>Titanic</i>.”</p><p>The color drained from John’s face as he swore.  “I... I forgot.  But Dean, I <i>can’t</i> run the risk that he’ll escape.”</p><p>“Gimme the name.”</p><p>“Ciaran Jacobs.”</p><p>“... had to be under an alias. Any aliases?”</p><p>“John Baker....”</p><p>Dean swore.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Engine crew. No information known. Died in the sinking.”</p><p>“You’re <i>sure</i>?”</p><p>“Positive.”</p><p>John frowned.  “Engine crew—he’d be... killed in the explosion?  Drowned in the initial wave?”</p><p>“Depends on where he is.”</p><p>John rubbed the back of his neck.  “Not many things could survive something like that, and the things that generally could aren’t on my suspect list—but dammit, I have to be <i>sure</i>.  Maybe if I go, I can—”</p><p>“—die.”</p><p>“In the line of duty, son.”</p><p>“Unnecessarily!”</p><p>John looked away.</p><p>“If I have to get His Majesty to tuck you under the throne and <i>sit</i> on you, you are <i>not</i> going!”</p><p>That startled a laugh out of John, which got a small smile from Dean. Dean rarely went against his father – but when he did, he was as fiery as Sam was.</p><p>“I just... I have to be sure,” John repeated quietly.</p><p>“No, you don’t. Not about this. About this, you have to trust me.”</p><p>John looked at Dean steadily for a long moment.  Then he sighed and shut the folder in front of him.  “All right, son.  I’ll trust you.”</p><p>Dean sighed. “Thank you.”</p><p>John nodded once.  Then, after a pause, he asked, “How the hell do you remember?”</p><p>“Remember?” Dean frowned.</p><p>“The names and fates, all of that.”</p><p>Dean shrugged. “If I read it and I’m interested in it, I remember it.”</p><p>“Wh-What’s going on?” came from the doorway. Bertie stood there, arms crossed. “I c-come home... f-for a week – and you t-two are f-f-f-fighting!”</p><p>John sighed.  “Nothing you need to worry about, Bertie.  Besides, the fight’s over, and Dean won.”</p><p>“G-Good. Could’ve t-told you that’s... that’s how it’d en-end up. D-Dean always wins.”</p><p>Dean barked a laugh.</p><p>And John cracked a wide smile. “That he does!”</p><p>Still grinning, Dean ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.</p>
<hr/><p>The first sight of <i>Olympic</i> at the Southampton dock gave Sam the shivers, since her sister was being fitted out right next to her. He never did explain to his classmates why he was crying softly when he came to his room. They jibed him mercilessly.</p><p>But fate had a wicked hand to play. About two days out of port, the <i>Olympic</i> threw a propeller blade, forcing a turn back. They arrived in the Southampton dry dock April 8.</p><p>And the announcement came that whoever wanted to could transfer to <i>Titanic</i> if they wanted to get to New York faster. Most of the young men in Sam’s group were eager, especially Brady and Cleves. But Sam adamantly put his foot down.  “No. No! How many ways do I have to say it? No, no, no, no, NO.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Winchester,” Cleves scoffed.  “Thought you were as keen to get to New York as the rest of us.”</p><p>“Not on <i>that</i> shit, I’m not!” Sam had a distinct feeling he’s mispronounced ‘ship’ but at that moment he couldn’t care less. “That ship is <i>cursed</i>.”</p><p>“What <i>are</i> you on about?” Lincoln laughed.</p><p>“That ship... by this time next week – she is going to be at the <i>bottom</i> of the <i>Atlantic</i>.”</p><p>Several of the others laughed, but none louder or harder than Brady, who Sam had considered one of his best friends... up to now.</p><p>His eyes narrowed. “Of all people... I thought you’d be on my side.”</p><p>“I am!” Brady protested.  “Only not when you’re talking like an old woman!”</p><p>“I <i>know</i> what I’m talking about!”</p><p>Brady laughed again.  “Haven’t you heard, old bean?  Not even God Himself could sink this ship!”</p><p>“And that’s why God Himself WILL sink her!”</p><p>Brady snorted and turned to his friends. “Behold the monk!”</p><p>Sam grabbed him by the lapels and spun him around.  “I don’t care what you call me.  If you board that ship, you. will. die.”</p><p>Brady laughed in his face. But a pair of boys—twins who had known Sam since the first day he arrived at Oxford and knew that sometimes he just <i>knew</i> things—looked at each other and abruptly stepped away from Brady.</p><p>“I’m begging you, old man,” Sam continued.  “By all that you hold dearest, by all that’s holy, I adjure you.  Don’t get on that ship.”</p><p>Brady patted his chest. “You, old son? Worry too damn much.” He turned and strode to the tender.</p><p>James sidled up to Sam. “You’re serious?”</p><p>“Dead serious,” Sam replied, looking around for a rope to try to lasso Brady and tie him up.</p><p>James ran after Brady, yelling for him to come back. Several others took off after him.</p><p>But James and one of the pursuers returned two minutes later—alone.</p><p>Sam looked up from the rope he was trying to wind up, and his heart sank.  “Oh, no.”</p><p>James shook his head. “Sorry, old boy. Trawler sailed.”</p><p>Sam let loose with one of Dean’s favorite, very American curses.  At the top of his lungs and in his native accent.</p><p>Heads swiveled. But at that point Sam didn’t care.</p><p>“Why the hell wouldn’t he <i>listen</i> to me?!”</p><p>“It’s <i>Brady</i>,” one of the twins said. “Old money—”</p><p>“And older ego,” they chorused.</p><p>Sam’s fists clenched. “Dammit, I’m a member of the King’s household!  Doesn’t that mean anything?!”</p><p>“Not to some families,” James sighed. Then he looked sideways at Sam. “You’re absolutely certain that ship is going to sink?”</p><p>Sam nodded.  “Absolutely.”</p><p>“But her sister... is safe?” He nodded at <i>Olympic</i>—the only one of the three sisters that would <i>not</i> sink, but would be cut up for scrap in 1935.</p><p>Sam nodded again.  “Yeah.  She’s good.”</p><p>“Then we take her.” James squared his shoulders. “Come on, then—there’s nothing we can do here. Let’s have some breakfast.”</p><p>“How can you eat at a time like this?” Sam objected.</p><p>“We’ve done all we can and there’s no use passing out from lack of food, is there?” What James had would one day be called hypoglycemia. All he knew was that if he didn’t eat regularly, he would be weak and incoherent, if not outright pass out.</p><p>Sam sighed.  “You go.  I need to wire my brother.”</p><p>But the lines were jammed with outgoing messages, so Sam gave up and went to watch the launch from <i>Olympic</i>’s deck. He could just make out Brady waving at him with a taunting smile, and it was all he could do not to throw up.</p><p>Cheers and whistles went up as the massive horn blew—and then the cheers turned to screams as the wash from her massive propellers snapped the tow line of a steamship named—ironically—<i>New York</i>, sending her drifting toward certain collision with <i>Titanic</i>’s stern.</p><p>The <i>Titanic</i> swung wide enough to give the <i>Vulcan</i> and the other stern tug—and a tender—the ability to move in and nudge the <i>New York</i> out of the way. There was a long pause, then the horn blew again and the cheering resumed—somewhat subdued—as the massive ship slid out of the harbor.</p><p>Sam buried his face in his hands and was still standing like that when James ran up to him.</p><p>“Sam?”</p><p>“They’ll think I’m crazy,” Sam groaned.  “They don’t know that that <i>wasn’t</i> the collision I was talking about.”</p><p>“It... wasn’t?”</p><p>Sam shook his head miserably.  “Iceberg.”</p><p>James squeezed his shoulder. “... okay. The... The lines are clearing now if you want to get your message out.”</p><p>Sam pulled himself together and nodded.  “Thanks, old man.”</p><p>“<i>And</i> the blade arrived today. It should be installed tomorrow—we should be on the way to New York City day after tomorrow.”</p><p>Sam nodded again, unsure if he actually wanted to go through with the trip now.</p>
<hr/><p>Two hours later, a footman knocked on the door to Bertie’s apartments.</p><p>Dean answered the door.  “Yeah?”</p><p>“Telegram for you, Mr. Winchester, sir. From your brother.” He held out a small silver tray.</p><p>Dean took the telegram and thanked the footman, then opened it—and swore when he saw the place of origin.  Then he swore again when he saw the time and took off running for John’s apartments.</p><p>John opened the door once he heard the pounding footsteps. He took one look at Dean and flung the door open, forgetting he had his revolver in his hand. “Dean? What is it?”</p><p>“Telegram from Sam—he sent it from <i>Southampton</i>.”</p><p>“<i>What?</i>” John took it and read the message aloud. “‘Dean we threw a blade STOP Southampton for repairs STOP I saw her sail STOP I wasn’t aboard STOP knowing what I know I couldn’t do it STOP Brady, Lincoln, Nicholas and Cleves went STOP’” He crinkled the telegram and recited the last line. “‘I couldn’t stop them STOP But I am all right STOP Sam Full Stop.’”</p><p>Dean swore again—but this time it came out more like a sob.</p><p>An unexpected voice spoke from the doorway. “T-T-Train leaves... for th-there in... t-two hours.”</p><p>“Thanks, Bertie,” father and son chorused and flew into action.</p><p>“You comin’?” Dean asked Bertie as John grabbed his jacket and began loading the revolver.</p><p>“B-Better.” Bertie smirked. “C-Called. B-bought three t-tickets.”</p><p>Dean grinned, clapped his old friend on the shoulder, and raced back to get his own jacket and the handgun he’d gotten for Christmas—the same pearl-handled M1911 that John had planned to get him for his 16th birthday.<sup>1</sup></p><p>And then they were off, with Bertie by their side.</p><p>Only Dean noticed the handle of the pearl-handled M1911 that was the twin to his own tucked into the prince’s jacket.</p><p>When they got to the Southampton docks, Bertie took the lead, knowing the crowds would part for the Duke of York.  They found their way to <i>Olympic</i> in next to no time.</p><p>Sam was in first class and they found him easily. He opened the door and all but pulled Dean inside, hugging him tight. Dean could feel him shaking.</p><p>When he let go of Dean, John stormed over and hugged Sam just as tight, burying his face in Sam’s shoulder. Sam hugged his dad back.</p><p>But when John finally stepped back to arm’s length, his first words were almost painfully predictable:  “Why the <i>hell </i>didn’t you stop them?!”</p><p>“I tried!” Sam bellowed back. “I tried EVERYTHING!”</p><p>“Dad,” Dean interrupted.  “Some things just can’t be changed. At least, Sam Winchester’s name wasn’t on the list. Either list.”</p><p>“L-l-l-list?” Bertie asked—and that was the first moment Dean realized that Bertie was still in earshot.</p><p>“List of the living and the dead,” Sam blurted out.</p><p>“G-g-good Lord,” Bertie breathed and pushed past John to hug Sam himself.</p><p>Sam clung to him, eyebrow rising when he felt the gun.</p><p>Dean shook his head slightly—<i>Don’t ask. </i></p><p>Sam nodded slightly—<i>I won’t. </i></p><p>James returned then and looked around in shock.  “Winchester?  What’s going on, old man?”</p><p>Sam pulled back, and he saw the Duke. “James...” Sam smiled. “This is my family.”</p><p>Bertie smiled, though he blushed a bit.</p><p>“My father... my brother Dean... and I think you know Bertie.”</p><p>James bowed.  “Your Highness.”</p><p>Bertie nodded. “J-James.”</p><p>John looked James over.  “You decided not to go on the <i>Titanic</i>, huh?”</p><p>James nodded.  “Sam was quite insistent.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“He said people would die. We tried to get Brady and his group... but they were adamant.”</p><p>John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “You still going on to New York?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I really don’t know,” Sam sighed.</p><p>“I’ve had a bad feeling about this trip this whole time,” Dean confessed.  “Besides, we’ve been to New York before.”</p><p>Sam sighed again and turned to James. “Would you hate me forever if I just went home? This... this is too much.”</p><p>“I can’t say I understand,” James replied.  “But I do know you’ve been in a state all day, and if it’s bad enough that the Duke of York came down himself... I suppose you’d best go home.”</p><p>Sam shook his friend’s hand. “Thank you.”</p><p>“We’ll let you know what we find, eh?  So you don’t have to wonder.”</p><p>Sam nodded and lifted his pack—he never quite got out of the habit of living out of packs—and followed his family off the massive White Star Line ship.</p><p>The car was silent all the way back to the train station.  But once John had gone off to get a ticket for Sam, Dean nudged his brother.  “What?”</p><p>“What?” he asked.</p><p>“You’re thinkin’ too loud, Sasquatch.  C’mon, spill.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>Dean’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>Sam sighed.  “Dad’s right.  I shoulda tried harder.”</p><p>“You did everything you could.”</p><p>“I could have knocked them out.  I could have called a bobby and had them arrested.  I could have....”</p><p>“D-died,” Bertie said softly.</p><p>Sam looked miserable.  “If it would have saved my friends—”</p><p>“<i>Hey</i>,” Dean interrupted.  “Don’t talk like that.”</p><p>“So many dead, Dean. So many...”</p><p>Dean grabbed him by the shoulders.  “You listen to me.  This was <i>not your fault</i>.  And hell, it sounds like you saved at least James.  That’s better than nothing.”</p><p>“... and David... and the twins....”</p><p>“There you go, see?  You did save somebody.”</p><p>He took a deep breath—and nodded.</p><p>“Remember ‘City on the Edge of Forever’?  Can’t always save everyone.”</p><p>“Yeah... I know.”</p><p>Dean pulled Sam into a tight hug.  Neither realized that John had returned or how long he’d been standing within earshot until he rubbed Sam’s back gently.  When Sam looked at him, all he said was, “Here’s your ticket, son.  Let’s go home.”</p><p>Sam nodded.</p>
<hr/><p>The brothers and Bertie stayed at Sandringham until the terrible news finally arrived five days later.</p><p>Dean took the telegram to John first. “I asked about Jacobs. He’s on the dead list.”</p><p>John sighed.  “Looks like you were right.  What about Sam’s friends?”</p><p>“Brady and his best mate are dead.”</p><p>“The other two made it?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“You told him yet?”</p><p>“No, sir. Thought it’d be best coming from us both.”</p><p>John nodded slowly.  “Any word from <i>Olympic</i>?”</p><p>“Yeah. They’re nearly to New York.”</p><p>“Good.”  John glanced over the telegram and sighed.  “We’d better tell him.”</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>They found Sam in the billiard room with Bertie.</p><p>“What is it?” Sam asked. “It’s happened?”</p><p>Dean and John nodded.  “Two of your friends made it,” John said.  “Brady and his pal didn’t.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes closed and his shoulders slumped.</p><p>“Don’t blame yourself, son.  You saved the ones you could.”</p><p>“Doesn’t feel like enough.”</p><p>“Never does,” John said quietly.</p><p>Sam’s eyes swung to his father. “... how do you get over it?”</p><p>John shook his head.  “You don’t.  You get through it.  You just... keep going, doing what you know you need to do.”</p><p>“Are you okay with it?” Sam asked. “Never being able to get to what killed Mom? Stuck here?”</p><p>“It’s gotten easier.  I’ve... been tracking it as best I can.  But I do have other work to do here, other lives to save.  And I’ve come to realize that since it’s... lying low now, apparently, we’ve got time.  Worse comes to worst, you boys can take over that job from me.”</p><p>“Worse comes to worst,” Dean began, and they finished, “We will.”</p><p>John noticed Bertie was nodding. “Now, Bertie,” he cautioned, “this fight doesn’t concern you.”</p><p>“Who said... I’m g-going to fight?”</p><p>John frowned.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>His shoulders squared and he pointed at himself. “I’m a <i>d-duke</i>. You c-can... have <i>resources</i>.”</p><p>John ran a hand over his nose and mouth.  Then he nodded.  “If we need ’em, I’ll let you know.  Thanks.”</p><p>Bertie nodded.</p>
<hr/><p>
Meanwhile, in New York, a badly shaken Lincoln and Nicholas stopped in at a small restaurant and ordered coffee and something to eat.  They sat in silence a while, just looking at each other.</p><p>“There... There was no way he knew that,” Nicholas gasped. “No way on God’s green Earth....”</p><p>“I know,” Lincoln breathed.  “After that near miss in the harbor, I thought—well, we all thought, but Brady said it: ‘There, Winchester’s just an old fusspot!  We don’t want him along spoiling the fun!’” Those last three words came out in a near sob.</p><p>“Some fun, huh?” The words were sarcastic.</p><p>“‘God Himself will sink her,’ Winchester said—how?  How the devil did he know?”</p><p>“But he knew... somehow he knew,” Nicholas said, his voice trembling. “Did... did you see Brady’s face? He was.... He looked in shock,” he finished when he could.</p><p>Lincoln shook his head.  “I was too busy trying to help poor old Cleves.  It was like... he just... he just let go.”</p><p>“He said something to you at the last, didn’t he?”</p><p>Lincoln nodded.  “He said, ‘T-tell Sam... if anyone ought to be sorry... it’s I.’”</p><p>Nicholas sighed. “We’d best wire him, then.”</p><p>“Yes, we had.  Food first, though.  And after... I... I need a drink.”</p><p>“Hear, hear.”</p><p>The waitress returned with their food then.  “Don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but were you boys on the <i>Titanic</i>?”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” Nicholas shuddered. “Beginning to wonder if I’m ever going to feel warm again.”</p><p>She set down their plates and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Well, listen, I get off in a couple of hours.  Why don’t I arrange that drink for you and, ah... maybe see if a friend and I can’t warm you boys up, huh?”</p><p>Nicholas smiled a little. “That sounds... wonderful.”</p><p>Lincoln nodded his agreement.</p><p>She smiled warmly and pinched Nicholas’ cheek.  “Okay, then.  I’ll meet you out back.  If I’m not there, just ask for Meg.”</p><p>As she moved away, Nicholas said, “God is smiling on us today!”</p><p>Lincoln laughed a little.  “So it seems!”</p><p>Meg’s smile turned to a smirk as she neared the counter.  If those idiots only knew....</p><p>Once she was in the back, she went to see her father and pass on what she’d overheard about Sam Winchester’s uncanny prediction.  “Do you think....”</p><p>“I think it’s one of those uncanny coincidences that pop up from time to time,” he replied. “Remember when we met Sir John Winchester in the Middle Ages with his two sons?”</p><p>“Well, yes, but....”</p><p>“This is the same—a boy with the same name as the Vessel who is also psychic. It does happen.”</p><p>“But you’ve got to admit it’s one hell of a coincidence.”</p><p>“My dear, I don’t <i>have </i>to admit <i>anything</i>.”</p><p>“What about that exorcism ten years ago, when precious little Ruby got kicked out of the Prince of Wales’ nanny?  She swears up and down the hunter looked like one of Michael’s vessels!”</p><p>He scoffed. “Ruby has an imagination larger than a child’s.”</p><p>“Father....”</p><p>“Child, enough.”</p><p>“Aren’t you concerned at all?”</p><p>“No. It’s a century too early—the Vessels’ grandfather isn’t even a gleam!”</p><p>She opened her mouth to protest again, but his eyes flashed yellow in impatience, and she sighed.  “All right, all right.  I’ll find out what I can about <i>this </i>Sam Winchester, then, just in case he’s a threat.”</p><p>“You do that.” He smirked. “And I think you’ll discover another impotent psychic who’s no threat at all.”</p><p>“We’ll see,” she muttered and took off to find Ruby.  She didn’t think she could trust any of her meatsuit’s human friends, but Ruby might enjoy tag-teaming these two rubes who thought they were smart just because they’d studied at Oxford.</p><p>None of the demons knew then that when Azazel finally found the right spell to contact Lucifer and made his way into the priest serving St. Mary’s Convent in 1972, someone would be waiting for him.</p><p>He walked into the nave of the chapel, ignoring the two old men sitting in the pews in attitudes of prayer. And they seemed to ignore him until he got nearly to the altar.  But then the silence of the chapel was broken by the distinctive sound of a revolver being cocked.</p><p>He froze, turning slowly to face them.</p><p>“How’s it goin’, Azazel?” said the older man with a smirk.</p><p>Azazel frowned, then his eyes narrowed. “... This is impossible.”</p><p>“Not exactly,” replied the younger, who was still 80 if he was a day.  Then he flicked open a lighter and tossed it on the ground, igniting a devil’s trap drawn in holy oil.</p><p>“You’re the Winchester brothers,” Azazel snarled. “You’re not even born yet, and here you are, old men.”</p><p>“Funny how that works, huh?” Dean returned, his smirk never wavering.</p><p>“How <i>does </i>that work, anyway?” Azazel asked, trying to keep them talking so he could find a way out of the trap.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” said Sam.  “What matters is that you’re caught—and you’re dead.  Do it, Dean.”</p><p>“Mightier men than you have tried to kill me before,” Azazel smirked. “All have failed.”</p><p>“<i>Hasta la vista</i>, baby,” Dean growled and fired.</p><p>Azazel gasped as the bullet plowed into his chest. He seized, lighting up from the inside.</p><p>“No,” he breathed.  “That gun was lost....”</p><p>“And now it’s found,” Sam quipped.</p><p>“Dude,” Dean groaned, “just ’cause we’re in a church doesn’t mean you hafta sing ‘Amazing Grace’!”</p><p>Sam grinned unrepentantly. And that was the last sight Azazel ever saw.</p>
<hr/><p>
“... it’s over,” Sam sighed as the fire flickered and went out, seemingly of its own accord.</p><p>“About damn time,” Dean agreed, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet.  “You wanna swing through Lawrence on the way back to Colorado?”</p><p>Sam nodded, standing with a fluidity that showed arthritis had not yet touched his knees.</p><p>“And what do you wanna do after that?  Head back to Lilibet?”</p><p>There wasn’t a second’s hesitation. “Definitely.”</p><p>“Bertie’d be proud of her.”</p><p>Sam grinned as they made their way up the aisle. “He is.”</p><p>Dean shot his brother a sidelong glance.  “And just how do you know that?”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Sammy, Bertie’s been gone....”</p><p>“Twenty years.”</p><p>“So how do you know what he’s thinking now?”</p><p>“He’s here.”</p><p>Dean frowned.  “What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>And a cool hand curled around the back of his neck.</p><p>Dean froze.  “Bertie, what....”</p><p>“Resources,” Sam said suddenly. “He said you’d have all the resources he could give.”</p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p>“Dean, your strength has always been in your family.”</p><p>“So?  What’s that got to do with being haunted by the King of England?”</p><p>“He’s family.”</p><p>That cool hand tightened just a bit.</p><p>Dean sighed.  “Bertie, you didn’t have to....”</p><p>And he heard a whispered <i>Wanted to. Still w-want to. </i></p><p>Dean swallowed hard, torn between telling him off and threatening to salt and burn his bones if he didn’t move on or... just letting him stick around for however long he and Sam had left.</p><p><i>Will be... waiting. B-best friends. </i>And the touch withdrew.</p><p>“Always, dude,” Dean replied softly.  “Always.”</p>
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<span class="small"><sup>1</sup> The M1911 did indeed begin production in 1911.</span>
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